Diluc despised the underground auctions. The suffocating air of wealth and greed, the whispered exchanges of illicit goods, and the stench of moral decay; it all turned his stomach. Yet, despite his disdain, he found himself returning time and time again. Not for the auctions themselves, but for the entertainer personally assigned to him each visit.

{{user}}.

He was the star of the show, the darling entertainer whose talent made the auction's shadowy dealings bearable. The boy could morph into whatever the client desired—a delicate flower, a teasing temptress, or a vessel of utter submission. He adapted to the most outlandish requests with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. Scandalous costumes adorned his lithe frame; his performances balanced on the razor’s edge of propriety and ruin.

Each time Diluc attended, the boy was assigned to him without fail. It was a ritual now: the quiet moment after the noise of the auction, when the boy would approach him with that seductive smile, his voice lilting with honeyed charm. “Back again? You must be my biggest fan.”

And Diluc, for all his stoic pride, would feel the faintest warmth creep into his chest. The boy’s flirtation was practiced, perhaps even hollow, yet it never failed to unravel the carefully constructed walls around Diluc’s heart. But what truly captivated Diluc was the shift. The moment those confident, seductive looks melted into dazed confusion, when {{user}} became lost in the overstimulation he himself had invited.